When we bought our current house sight unseen some three years ago, it was politely described as a 'fixer-upper'. That was being extremely demeaning to fixer-uppers everywhere. 'Hovel' is a more appropriate term but even that may be a little too kind. Most of the rooms had holes in the ceiling, some of them patched up in inventive ways. For the first few months in our new home we slept under the disconcerting gaze of a stuffed panda, leering down from where he had been wedged in a hole above our bed.

I have gradually patched all of the holes but one. It is worth noting that no animals, stuffed or otherwise, were harmed in this process. Bedroom Bear was removed with some ceremony, the solemnity of which was rather spoiled by the enveloping cloud of dusty bird and rodent droppings that followed him out of his nook.

The one hole that remains is in the ceiling of the hot-water cupboard. Suitable personnel to tackle this particular repair are not available - midget contortionists with carpentry experience are apparently quite hard to come by.

For some reason, our two feline fur-children, Pushy and Wilson, are powerfully drawn to this hole - it must be like cat heaven up there, judging by their zeal to get into the ceiling cavity. Let the door to that cupboard be opened ever so quietly and, wherever they are in the house, they will come running. Stealth and speed on our part in storing bed-linen and table-runners are not enough to repel such determined invaders.

But wait - let me introduce you to these two furry interlopers. I say interlopers advisedly, because we are dog people. Two large canines came with us to this house and that, in our humble opinion, was enough animals for one household. The cats had other ideas; They appeared as if from nowhere within a couple of weeks of our arrival and after a drawn out series of demarcation disputes, established themselves as rulers of the roost. Oh no, that's chickens - we have those too, but at least they don't come inside. Not yet, anyway!

Although she eats about twenty times a day, Wilson remains determinedly scrawny, resisting all attempts to fatten her up. Pushy, on the other hand, as her name suggests, is big and brash and rather, er, pushy. We have a new TV now. It is firmly fixed to its stand with two large screws. Won't make that mistake again!

Like cats everywhere, these two lead a cushy existence. At least twenty hours per day are spent sleeping. Most of the rest is taken up with eating, grooming and creating undecipherable messages by strolling across the computer keyboard at inopportune moments.

Let's return to that ceiling-hole. To reach it, Pushy and Wilson have both perfected the art of scrambling upwards, using the edges of the cupboard shelves as footholds, then leaping up and though a screening layer of fibreglass insulation and promptly disappearing. Perhaps it is like arriving in Narnia, and they are being greeted by Mr Tumnus and drawn into a magical world of feline adventures. Aslan was just a big cat, after all.

Wherever they are, it is no use calling, threatening or cajoling. They always remain in their hidden kingdom for several hours, never returning until dinner-time, when the sound of scrabbling claws and then a resounding thump (a much louder thump in Pushy's case) announces their re-emergence into our world.

I really must get that hole fixed one day, but that would be rather like locking the door on Narnia's wardrobe, wouldn't it?